


Speechless

by vaqabond



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Mild Language, Sickfic, Vomiting, just tony and clint bein pals, with guest appearances of steve and sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaqabond/pseuds/vaqabond
Summary: Clint reminds Tony of the party he's supposed to be hosting. Unfortunately Tony is sick and losing his voice. Mistakes are made.





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the lame title, if you have any better ideas please put them in a gun and shoot them at me.
> 
> Also I hope everyone is in character! I try my best but who knows
> 
> join my server >> https://discord.gg/AyH6pwK

Tony Stark had been fighting a cold for about a week now. It was nothing serious-- a few headaches, snotty noses here and there-- but it was fairly annoying. Scarfing down pills didn’t work, and neither did those shitty home remedies. Sleeping did nothing to help him, not that he had time to spare for that anyways. He supposed time was the only answer, and he just had to suffer through it for a few more days.

  
  


He couldn’t have been more wrong. After a long night of restless tossing and turning, Tony woke up for work. He went to bed at around 11:00 and woke up at 7:00, yet he figured he achieved maybe 2 hours of sleep. What a lovely start to the day. He slowly slid out from under his covers and sat up, his legs hanging loosely from the side of his bed. With his freezing hands, he massaged his throat; it felt unusually stiff today. He then left the comfy confines of his bed and dragged himself into the bathroom for a morning piss, shower, and teeth brushing. Standing in front of the sink, he took a look at his appearance in the mirror-- face and eyes a little red, but still as handsome as ever. 

  
  


As Tony reached for his toothbrush, he began coughing. Coughing a lot, actually. He began choking on air, and his eyes welled with tears as the weird sensation of sandpaper in his throat harassed his body. He quickly turned on the water faucet and cupped handfuls of water into his mouth like an animal to soothe the dryness. The rough, tickling sensation in his through died down, and his coughing fit ended as his mouth dripped with mucus. He tried to muster up a small “holy shit,” but found it hard to say anything coherent. The noise he made sounded more like a “c-c-huhee chit,” a raspy voice hiding any sign of human language.

  
  


Well fuck. That’s a bit of a problem. He sort of  _ needs _ his voice; it’s an integral part of his being. Tony frantically looked in the nearby drawers for some pills or vitamins or  _ something  _ that would fix the pressing issue. Ah, yes. Mucinex. And it’s not expired yet! He poured a few pills out and swallowed them down with a generous amount of water. He knew the medicine wouldn’t immediately fix his sore throat, but he hoped it would help his voice come back somewhat. He put the pills back from where they came from and continued his daily routine.

  
  


\---

  
  


When Tony finally entered the living area of the tower, he had hoped nobody would talk to him. Not only was he not in the mood, but he wasn’t thrilled to share his broken record of a voice with anyone just yet. Luckily, he was the only person present for the time being. 

  
  


He sombered over to the kitchen and began to fry some eggs, being conscious to cough in his overlarged hoodie instead of onto his breakfast. He felt worse by the minute; the pills he took seemed to be doing nothing. Fucking Mucinex. Next time he’ll invest in the off-brands.

  
  


As he turned off the flames and began to plate his eggs, he noticed a new presence enter the room: Clint Barton.

  
  


The deaf Avenger entered the kitchen, and began to pour himself some cereal. “Hey brass ass,” he greeted, before turning to Tony to lipread his response. Clint typically didn’t wear his hearing aids until after breakfast, as he didn’t talk to many people in the morning and the silence soothes any headaches he might have. Besides, he got along just fine by lipreading. Why bother hearing the groggy morning voices of his friends when he could just read what they mean? 

  
  


In response to Clint’s playful greeting, Tony glared in response.

  
  


“Wow, what’s got your panties in a twist? Havin’ problems in bed? I understand, it can be--”

  
  


“Shut up,” Tony managed to squeeze out before coughing some more. He hoped his illness didn’t obstruct his ability to clearly mouth his words to Clint.

  
  


“Oh, you’re _sick_! No I get it, I’ll leave you alone. Just don’t cough onto my Fruit Loops.” With that parting message, Clint took his bowl and sat at the bar table a few feet away. Tony took his eggs and sat on the couch, hoping the distance would keep Clint from continuing the conversation.

  
  


The two ate in silence at first. Tony’s runny eggs did wonders to soothe his dry throat, and the flavor distracted his sprinting thoughts and growing headache. The quietness and small breeze in the room was relaxing, and Tony figured it was going to be a lovely day despite his illness. That is, until Clint started talking to him again.

  
  


“So uh… Are you gonna make it to the party later?”

  
  


Tony stopped eating and looked at Clint across the room. Fuck, how could he forget? Tony planned a small celebration as a reward for the Avengers’ successes last week. Nothing too grand, but he had been looking forward to this party since he first pitched the idea to the team.

  
  


“The celebr-”  _ Cough, cough, cough.  _ Holy shit, Tony’s going to have a hell of a time tonight.

  
  


“Sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn’t see you clearly.”

  
  


Luckily, Tony knew a bit of sign language. Clint’s hearing aid once broke during combat, rendering his comms useless and placing him in unneeded danger. Although Clint turned out fine, the Avengers were forced to learn some sign language in case something like that ever happened again-- words like  _ stop, go, help,  _ and other simple signs that could help Clint get out of trouble if need be. Tony took it on himself to learn more of the unique language, although it wasn’t necessary for their work. Just another interesting skill to learn. He used the few signs he knew to repeat his thoughts to Clint.  _ Party. Tonight? _

  
  


“Yeah, what else?” Clint replied.

  
  


Clint didn’t need to read his lips to know that Tony was currently cursing under his breath.

  
  


Tony began signing again.  _ Yes, I’m going. I’m fine. _

  
  


“Sure thing pal. Just don’t get anyone else sick.” Clint then got up from his seat and put his bowl away, leaving the tin man alone in the room.

  
  


\---

  
  


Tony paced his bedroom and thought about skipping the party, as he wasn’t feeling the greatest; his headache had worsened and his throat seemed drier than the Afghan deserts. And his voice, his  _ lovely, perfect  _ voice, had not improved in the slightest. If anything, it may have gotten worse. It creaked and croaked with every noise, and it seemed almost inhumane for him to force guests to listen to his horrid growl of speech. While he desperately wanted to attend the party, he couldn’t possibly survive without talking.

  
  


Right?

  
  


He reviewed the pros and cons of going to the celebration. On one hand, he could stay in bed, watch some movies, and take a few naps. It would certainly help him recover, and he won’t embarrass himself in front of everyone.

  
  


On the other hand, he could ignore all good intuition and go to the party anyways. He  _ loved  _ parties-- tons of food, interesting faces, delicious wine. Dancing, singing, and chatting were all things he couldn’t live without, and being the center of attention was such an amazing feeling to have (although in this situation, he figured being just another face in the crowd would help his image some). Skipping the party was akin to removing his brain; partying and socializing was what made Tony  _ Tony _ . He’d be fine without his voice. Life finds a way. He was  _ going _ to that party.

  
  


\---

  
  


Tony made a grave mistake coming to the party. When he first arrived into the living area of the tower, he was overcome with smells, sounds, and sights. People were everywhere, and he had no clue what to do first. Immediately eating seemed rude (although he technically paid for everything) and joining any conversation seemed too awkward with his lack of a voice. Luckily, he didn’t need to make a decision as someone was calling his name.

  
  


“Tony! Hey, Tony!”

  
  


Tony looked to his right and spotted a familiar grinning face-- Steve. 

  
  


“Hey Tony, thanks for doing this. I think this’ll help with team morale and put everyone in a good mood for starting the next assignment.”

  
  


Of course he mentioned the benefits for the team. How  _ Captain America  _ of him. “Oh don’t--” Tony talked into his fist, trying to muffle the sound of any upcoming coughs. “Don’t mention it.”

  
  


Tony observed the man’s head tilt with a slightly worried expression. “You okay, pal? Are you sick?”

  
  


Fuck, he’s catching on. “No, no, I’m- I’m fine, shut up.” Good cover, he won’t suspect a thing. 

  
  


“Tony, if you’re sick, you should be getting some rest. You don’t want to--”

  
  


“Put a Cap in it--”  _ Coughing. _ “I’m fine, s-s-stop being such a--”  _ Cough, cough cough.  _ Christ.

  
  


“Aw, is wittle Tony catching a cold? Does momma Steve need to make it better?”

  
  


Tony whipped his head around to look toward the source of the sound and found Sam approaching, a cheeky grin enveloping his face. “You mo--” Tony began before being interrupted by-- surprise!--  _ more coughing. _

  
  


Sam laughed. “Try again.”

  
  


Tony continued to cough into his closed fist and resorted to flipping Falcon the bird. Haha, how ironic.

  
  


“ _ Man, _ it’s so much quieter now that Tony’s lost his voice! I don’t need to pretend that I’m listening to him boast about how great he is at everything.”

  
  


“Hardy, har,” Tony managed to squeak out. “So f-funny.”

  
  


“Anyways,” Steve interrupted, “how’re you doing, Sam?”

  
  


“Oh, I’m doing fine, how you doin’ Steve? Enjoying yourself?”

  
  


Tony stopped listening to the conversation between the two men and instead focused on the growing tickle in his throat. He didn’t want to cough (as he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started), but he felt that he needed to do  _ something _ to ease the irritation. He turned and examined the food offered behind him: sandwiches (too dry), cookies (too messy), punch (too sweet), and scotch. Yeah, scotch sounded just  _ perfect _ right now.

  
  


“Nice t-talk guys, but I’m--”  _ Coughing.  _ “I’m getting a dr-”  _ More coughing. _ Hopefully all of his coughing will get that prick Sam sick. Tony waved to the two men and began to squeeze his way past guests to get to his alcoholic savior. 

  
  


When he finally reached the cocktail bar and poured himself a glass, he found himself at ease. He’ll have a few drinks and he’ll be feeling better in no time, no problem. No one was paying attention to him for the time being, so he was able to enjoy some solitary moments to himself. Just some quiet time to soak in the fancy atmosphere.

  
  


That is, until Tony found himself standing next to Clint, the talkable bastard. Tony tried to ignore him at first, pretend that he didn’t see him. Clint saw  _ Tony _ though, and once he saw someone he knew at a social gathering, he would talk their ear off. Clint typically prefered to spend time alone, but he didn’t want to miss the party for fear of being rude. So he resorted to awkwardly hanging out near the drinks and waiting for an individual to make their appearance near him so he could talk one-on-one. That person being  _ Tony  _ this time around.

  
  


Clint tapped on the man’s shoulder to get his attention and began signing.  _ You good? _

  
  


Tony placed his undrinkened glass on the table and replied.  _ I’m fine. Why sign? _

  
  


_ Too loud. Your voice? Is it still gone? You still sick? _

  
  


“Woah, s--” Tony coughed.  _ Sign slower,  _ he continued with his hands.

  
  


_ Still sick? _

  
  


Tony nodded and finally took a sip of his beverage. The conversation with Clint distracted him from his main goal, which was to drink something to sooth his aching throat. Unsurprisingly, alcohol made the problem worse (when has alcohol ever helped?). His throat burned as the scotch poured into his mouth and down his gullet. With the conjoined pain of alcohol and dry throat, he found himself coughing again, the scotch he drank almost immediately leaving his body in a sudden reaction spit. He dropped his glass as he moved his hand to stop himself from spitting his drink onto his attire, but he was too slow. That was the least of his concerns though-- his mouth was still burning and watering and he desperately needed to do something about it.

  
  


Clint was shocked, to say the least. He first took a step back to avoid the splash zone, but soon found his way back to Tony to awkwardly pat the hunched over man on the back. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

  
  


Before Clint could say anything comforting, Tony was racing back behind the bar to get a glass of water, coughing and struggling to keep himself from drooling everywhere. Clint leaned over the bar table and watched Tony’s desperate search, a concerned look overtaking his face.

  
  


When he couldn’t find any drinkable water behind the counter (seriously, what kind of bar didn’t have a water bottle?), Tony sprinted to the nearest bathroom, leaving Clint to deal with his mess. The commotion caught the attention of a few party attendees, which in turn made Clint nervous. He wasn’t used to so many eyes on him; usually it was  _ him _ keeping tabs on everyone, not the other way around. He found himself faced with two choices: he  _ could _ be the bigger man and clean up his friends mess, or he  _ could _ leave it there and quickly leave the scene while he still held his dignity. The choice was obvious. Clint carefully stepped over the spilled scotch and glass shards and sped walked in the direction Tony ran, ignoring the gazes of those he passed.

  
  


Clint pushed his way past groups of people and turned a corner into a more quiet section of the floor. Tony was nowhere in sight, but Clint figured the man must have ran to the bathroom. Clint walked towards the single-stall restroom and pressed his ear to the door, hearing running water and harsh coughing. Worried for his friend, Clint knocked on the door before trying the handle. He normally wouldn’t find himself caring so deeply for the Avenger; he didn’t know what had overcome him. Maybe Tony reminded Clint of his kids back at home? Or perhaps Clint felt some personal responsibility? He didn’t know nor did he care. His dumbass friend was ill from drinking alcohol on a sick stomach and he was going to do something about it goddammit.

  
  


Clint was mildly surprised to find the door unlocked (he figured locking the door was a lower priority to finding a toilet to barf in) and saw Tony ferociously cupping water into his mouth.

  
  


He stood awkwardly in the doorway before finally asking, “Uhm, you okay bud?”

  
  


Tony replied by scrambling over to the toilet and puking.

  
  


“Oh shit--” was all Clint could say as he watch the man empty his embarrassment into the toilet. Clint fully entered the small bathroom and gently closed the door behind him to give Tony some privacy. Privacy from party-goers, at least. Clint could still see him clearly and it was  _ sickening. _

  
  


While Clint struggled with his awkward behavior, Tony was having the time of his life. His throat was almost literally on fire, and nothing he did would make it stop. Water did little to relieve his senses, and the added sting of stomach acid in his throat, mouth, and nose magnified the discomfort tenfold. His body ached from the strong heaves of his stomach, and he found that his vision grew blurry as his eyes watered (a natural bodily function; he wasn’t crying from the embarrassment and pain because Tony Stark was  _ not _ a pussy). He didn’t know whether to be grateful for Clint’s presence or to be shameful. He didn’t like being seen this way. Red faced, drooling, and puking into a toilet was not a very Stark look.

  
  


Clint didn’t like  _ seeing  _ his friend like this either. Every splash from the toilet made Clint cringe with guilt and pity. To distract himself while Tony heaved his innards into the toilet, Clint grabbed a nearby hand towel and folded it on the floor for his friend to grab when he finished. In addition, he had found a paper cup under the sink and filled it with water.

  
  


After what seemed like hours, Tony spat the remaining phlegm from his mouth into the toilet and grabbed the towel by his side. As he wiped his face, Clint spoke up. 

  
  


“You alright?”

  
  


Tony turned to look up at the Avenger towering over him. He wiped the remaining snot and other unpleasant atrocities from his face and replied. “I can’t tell if waiting for me in the bathroom is the gayest or most motherly thing you’ve ever done for me.”

  
  


“Good to see your voice is back somewhat, smartass,” the archer shot back. “It’s good to finally talk to Iron Man again and not ET.”

  
  


Tony stood up from his crouched position and flushed the toilet. “And I’m glad to see that the kissass has left the room and ol’ Barton is back.”

  
  


Clint smiled at the man and patted his shoulder. “Good to see you back, bud. But seriously, do you need anything?”

  
  


“If you’re offering a handjob, my answer is no.”

  
  


Clint’s hand immediately shot away from the man’s shoulder. “That’s not-- Let me try again. What kind of dumbass drinks alcohol to care for a dry throat? You know alcohol  _ burns _ , right?”

  
  


A half-smile grew on Tony’s face. “It’s good for the soul, what else was I supposed to drink? There wasn’t any water, and punch was out of the question.”

  
  


“Why was punch out of-- nevermind, I’m done with this dumb conversation. I’m going to leave now.”

  
  


“Of course. You leave, and I’ll leave in a min. Don’t want people thinking we made out or something.”

  
  


“You wish,” Clint laughed as he turned to leave the small room. He looked back only once, before finally leaving through the doorway. Tony threw his soggy towel into the small waste bin and washed his mouth with the cup of water Clint left him. He waited a good 30 seconds before leaving the restroom as well, shutting the lights and door behind him.

  
  


Tony was done for the night. Rather than return to the party with red eyes and wretched breath, he took the elevator up to his top-floor condo. As soon as he entered his comforting home, he dragged himself towards his bed for some well-deserved rest. While he wouldn’t like to go through that experience again, he knew he would make the same mistakes again a second time. What’s a dry throat to a glass of scotch?

**Author's Note:**

> again, if ur interested please check out my discord server!! https://discord.gg/AyH6pwK


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